Wings of a Bird

A visit to the US military hospital at Landstuhl - Der Spiegel
... A stretcher is lifted from inside the bus out into the rain.
It arrives in the form of a broken man, a body almost completely covered in gauze bandages, darkened in spots, and connected to various machines -- he is unconscious. The chaplain at the head of the welcoming committee personally greets the new arrival, just as every new arrival at Landstuhl is greeted personally, whether he is awake, asleep or in a coma. The priest stands next to the stretcher and leans in toward the patient, almost as if he were bowing, and, addressing him by his first name: Michael, he says, "you are safe now. You're in Germany."
As the priest's purple-gloved hand forms the sign of the cross in the air above the wounded soldier, the hands of many others are already whisking the stretcher away toward the hospital, where it is loaded into an elevator and taken up to the ICU. The soldier's wounds are critical. Every minute counts at Landstuhl.
Four men are loaded onto stretchers from the second bus. Although their injuries are not life-threatening, they arrive with tubes in their necks and noses, wires in their chests, limbs in casts, skin burned, even with fingers, toes and legs already amputated. Each new arrival is greeted with the same soothing words and given the same blessing. By the time the delivery ends, 10 men have descended from the side door of the bus, some on crutches and others with no apparent injuries. The latter -- men with vacant eyes, eyes blinded by the images of war -- have come to Landstuhl for psychiatric treatment.
...
Dawn Garcia, a 40-year-old native of Texas, is difficult to overlook. She exudes a sense of kindness that changes every room she enters. She lives in Landstuhl with her husband and two daughters, has been in the army for 18 years and clearly loves her work. She is a remarkable person.
Garcia worked in Iraq for an entire year in 2004, the year of the battles for Fallujah. She worked in operating rooms resembling slaughterhouses, often under fire and during power outages. She saved hundreds of lives and comforted dozens of dying soldiers, held their hands, wept and prayed with them, promised not to leave them alone and never broke her promise, even when the war was raging around her.
On some days in Iraq, when blood supplies were low, she would donate her own blood up to two times a day. On other days 18-year-olds died in her arms, and all they could say was that they wanted to protect their country and hoped that their efforts hadn't been for nothing. Dawn Garcia sat by their sides like a mother, selfless and courageous.
She does her job. "My family is my support system," she says, "and I run six miles a day. That helps." When asked how she keeps herself from despairing when faced with so much suffering, she says: "You have to be able to cry when it's time to cry. That's important." ...

Labels: compassionate people, war